


Pressure Point

by renecdote



Series: hc_bingo 2018 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batdad to the rescue, Crying, Exhaustion, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, Side Effects, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: Damian is overtired and on edge. It’s not a problem until Jason takes his muffin.





	Pressure Point

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://pepperonys.co.vu/post/171646931714/tchailla-me-reading-ooc-fics-where-damian-wayne) tumblr post. 
> 
> Also fills the "side effects" square on my hurt/comfort bingo card :)

The Cave is buzzing with post-patrol activity. The tap of fingers against the Batcomputer keyboard, the serious chatter of cases being discussed, the bats flapping overhead, the laughter and teasing as Nightwing and Batgirl make a joking competition out of contorting themselves into ridiculous stretches. All of it pulses in the air, working into Damian’s ears, prickling at his skin like millions of tiny needles, assaulting his senses when he steps out of the relative quiet of the locker room.

Patrol had been long and gruelling, but maybe Damian is the only one who thinks that because everyone else seems relaxed and in good spirits. Maybe it’s just because he’s feels like he hasn’t had a moment to pause in the last three days. Fighting robots in San Fransisco, flying back the same day and diving straight into helping catch The Riddler, catching him last night after a day of poring over clues, barely having time to power nap between studying and training and his own personal projects. Damian can’t remember the last time he slept for more than ten minutes. And he’s tired. So tired. 

He desperately wants to sleep but he’s feeling too high-strung, distracted and jittery, brain sluggish but body thrumming with a need to move. His feet carry him toward the Batcomputer on autopilot, wanting to get his report of the night over and done with so he can go find some peace and quiet to meditate before falling into bed. 

Pennyworth brought down blueberry muffins at some point while Damian was changing out of the Robin uniform. There’s only one left on the plate and Damian’s stomach rumbles when he sees it, his body demanding energy. He reaches for it, turning slightly to see what file his father has open, but his fingers close on empty air.

“Gotta be faster than that around here, pipsqueak.”

Damian spins around and finds the muffin held up above Todd’s head. He glares. “Give it back, Todd.”

The muffin is lowered and for a moment Damian is pleasantly surprised by how easy it was. Until it’s snatched back out of his reach a second later. Todd waggles a finger, grinning broader. “Nuh-uh-uh, not without the magic word.”

Damian grinds his teeth. HIs blood bubbles beneath his sin. “Please. Give. It. Back.”

The muffin wavers in the air. “What, you can’t get it back yourself?” 

Damian throws himself at his brother, stretching up on his toes, but Todd just laughs, keeping him down one-handed. Damian’s eyes burn. He just wanted to eat a muffin but he can’t reach it. He curls his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms. His muscles are so tense he feels like a breeze could shatter him, like glass splintered by too much pressure. 

Todd pushes his shoulder. It’s not even that hard, Damian barely stumbles, but it’s the linchpin that unravels him. It’s Too Much. Frustration washes over him like a wildfire. Swelling and burning, sucking the oxygen out of his cells, so hot and intense Damian feels like he’s going to implode. He pounds his fists against Todd’s chest, garbled words falling of his tongue in a tangled, half-tearful mess. 

“Give is back, give it back, it’s mine, I wanted it-”

“Shit, kid, calm dow-“

“-give it back, give it back, it’s mine, it’s mine-”

And then the wildfire is gone, moved along to devour someone else, leaving behind smouldering charcoal and emptiness. Damian’s fists slow, his words peter out, until he’s just sobbing against Todd’s chest, fists twisted in the red bat on his shirt.

The Cave around him is silent. Damian is crying so hard he can barely breathe. He doesn’t know where the tears are coming from. Someone puts a hand on his shoulder and it only makes him cry harder.

“What happened?” A voice demands. It could be Father. It could be Richard. 

“I don’t know!” Todd says. He sounds alarmed. “I was just messing with him, I didn’t think he’d-”

Hands on his shoulders, tugging him away from Todd, and Damian thrashes and shouts through his tears as he’s lifted away. He’s crushed back against something hard, something warm, iron encircling him. “Shh, you’re okay,” murmured by his ear. “You’re alright, Damian, take a breath, you’re okay.”

Damian shakes his head feebly. His chest aches, jumping with violent hiccups. “No,” he gasps. _No, don’t touch me. No, I’m not okay. No, I can’t take a breath. No no no. It’s too much. Too much._

Something is thrown over him, tucked around his neck, up over the top of his head. Then his face is pressed forward and Damian feels warm skin against his forehead, smells a faint mix of Kevlar and iron and sweat. He takes a shuddering breath.

“Shh,” again, repeated over and over. A hand between his shoulder blades joins the voice, rubbing up and down firmly. 

Time passes. How much is unclear, but Damian’s sobs taper off to slower crying and then quiet snivelling. His eyes feel gummy and sore so he pulls back just enough to reach up and rub them. The thing that was wrapped around him slips down, silky and black, and Damian realises it’s Batman’s cape. He stills. He’d thought… surely it was Richard who…

“Feel better?” his father asks. The downturn at the corner of his mouth says concerned.

Damian lifts one shoulder in a shrug. He feels… spent. Hollowed out. Exhausted deep down into his bones. The prickling under his skin has sunk down, coiling in his chest. He feels like anything could make him cry again. So when his father pulls him back in for a proper hug a few more tears slip down Damian’s cheeks. 

“I…” His voice is thick. He’s not sure what he’s going to say. He is suddenly hyper-aware that he’s sitting on his father’s lap, being coddled like a child. Mortification burns his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” His father runs his fingers through Damian’s hair. “Sensory overload, I’m guessing? One of the less fun symptoms of sleep deprivation.”

“How did you…”

“Don’t you know? I’m the world’s greatest detective.” Father chuckles. “And Jason was the same as a kid. He’d get stressed and overtired and then some small thing would happen and he’d have a meltdown.” He gently squeezes the back of Damian’s neck. “He’s sorry, by the way. If he’d known you haven’t slept in days I’m sure he wouldn’t have teased you.”

Damian lifts his head to peek over his father’s shoulder and finds the cave is now empty. All the overlapping sounds from earlier are gone; even the bats have quietened overhead. There is only the faint hum of machinery and the even fainter gurgle of water flowing through the underground caverns. And of course his father’s quiet, even breaths, his chest rising and falling under Damian’s side. It’s almost peaceful. Calming. Damian finds his eyes drooping closed. His head drops back down against his father’s shoulder. He’s so very tired.

Faint pressure against the top of his head, reminiscent of the days when his mother used to kiss his forehead when she’s put him to bed. It’s been so long since those days. Damian misses her suddenly, acutely, and he thinks the tears are going to well over again, but there are no tears left. He’s going to have a headache when he wakes up, but he can’t summon the energy to do anything to prevent it now. 

“Go to sleep, Damian,” Father says. “I’ll make sure your siblings leave you alone.”

Damian’s fingers curl into the cape, pulling it more firmly around him. He doesn’t care that it’s not his bed like he was looking forward to. It is safe and warm. One of his father’s hands cups the back of his head, the other a comforting pressure across his back. Damian exhales and tension bleeds from his muscles. Perhaps… perhaps this is even better than his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, comments and kudos are much appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](http://tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


End file.
